His breath, like a whisper in my ear, speaks multitudes. His story spills as from a fresh wound and puddles on the floor before us. I dip my toes in to test the waters. A beautifully uncomfortable sensation overtakes me, and, for a moment, my breath catches in my throat. ..
I won’t attempt an analysis of text, or anything quite so intellectual at the moment. Instead, in adulation, I felt inspired to record myself reading Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s 1892 short story, “The Yellow Wallpaper.”
I hope, if you have a listen, you enjoy it. I have never done anything like this before, so I know there will be much criticism – which I welcome!
Apart from my carrying on, I do hope you give the original text a read – if you have not – as it is one of my all time favorite shorts about Madness.
(P.S. Sorry about all the technical issues, I don’t know why the video is starting at 2minutes+ or why the still disappears at about 7 or 8 – if I do this again, hopefully I will have gained a better understanding of Jahshaka!)
To a fault, I am honest. In my day to day interactions, making acquaintances, being normal, this does me a disservice. Not to say that I am rude, but I do have a hard time letting my lips be friends.
Well, my friends, there is one situation where this aspect of my character actually behooves me:
when pulled over
by the police —
As you lay there in bed and address me gruffly one last time before turning your back towards me, I wondered, again, what it was that I had done? What had I done wrong? Did I disrespect you? Did I ignore you? Did I offend you? Did I break your heart?
I think to tap you on the shoulder and question you about it. I think to tap you on the shoulder and